Deborah Fletcher Mello - To Love A Stallion

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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Marah Briscoe sat in a line of early morning traffic that seemed to be going absolutely nowhere. Vehicles were bumper to bumper on I-35, everything slowed from Zang Boulevard to Illinois Avenue. After a seriously long night with almost no rest, Marah was not in the mood. Sleep had been alluding her for days, ever since the last family meeting when her father had shocked her and her sisters with what he had called “good news.” Since that moment, her mind had been a random mush of reflection, her concentration challenged. Some sleep would have helped because the lack of it was truly messing with her thoughts and this morning was surely not the one for her to be unfocused.

From the moment she’d risen from her bed, her day had not gone well. The alarm on her clock radio had not gone off, setting her thirty minutes behind schedule, and a previous problem with the plumbing in her apartment had resurfaced with a vengeance. There had only been a short burst of hot water for her shower and premenstrual cramps were wrecking havoc on her body. With the traffic now holding her hostage, making her drive downtown a tedious chore at best, Marah was wishing she could crawl back into bed, pull the covers up and over her head and forget any of this was happening.

She was grateful when she finally pulled into the lower parking deck of the highrise offices and quickly found an empty parking spot in the front row. It felt as if she’d been given a minor reprieve from her misery. Exiting the vehicle, she took a series of deep breaths before entering the lobby of Stallion Enterprises’ executive office complex. Anxiety swept through her as she maneuvered her way past a uniformed officer sitting at the front security station and eased over to the building’s office directory. The oversize display case was recessed into a marbled wall, the black surface and bright white lettering illuminated by a hint of light that seemed to seep from somewhere in the back of the unit. She scanned it slowly, confirming the location of the corporate boardroom. When she located the appropriate floor and wing she depressed the up button for the elevator, waiting with the small crowd that had quickly gathered around her.

Taking a glance over her shoulder Marah noted the security guard eyeing her curiously, his gaze sweeping the length of her size-four frame with much appreciation. She tossed him a wry smile, then turned her attention back to the opening doors of the conveyor. Stepping inside she pushed the button for the fifty-fourth floor and eased her body in among the others who were riding up with her. The doors closed quickly and Marah blew a sigh of relief, cementing her decision to follow through with her mission.

Marah had been having second thoughts about what she planned to do. But what she was doing had become necessary. Six weeks ago she’d gotten word that Stallion Enterprises had made a bid to purchase her father’s ranch, one of the last black-owned granges in the county of Dallas. Some egotistical, corporate demagogue had preyed on her father’s soft nature and had conned the old man into actually believing this was in his best interest.

Since his wife’s death five years ago, Edward Briscoe had been beside himself with grief, his bereavement consuming every aspect of his life. He’d lost his one and only love and, besides his children, all he had left was that ranch. Marah was willing to go to any lengths to ensure her father didn’t lose it and definitely not to the likes of a silver-tongued, snake-oil salesman by the name of John Stallion.

Taking a glance down to the gold-toned watch on her wrist, Marah was suddenly concerned that she’d missed her window of opportunity. The executive committee of Stallion Enterprises would already be gathered together, preparing for the annual board meeting that would be commencing later that morning. Marah knew that slipping into the boardroom and interrupting their planning session before someone called security and tossed her out on the heels of her Abilene cowboy boots would be no easy feat.

A few stops later the elevator was exceptionally full when the doors opened and another crowd of bodies pushed their way inside. Marah took a step back to make room, pressing herself against the people already standing behind her. She tossed a quick look behind her, suddenly aware that she had stepped into someone’s space. A woman standing just over her right shoulder met her gaze, a slight smile of polite acknowledgment pulling at her thin lips. Marah couldn’t see the man at her back without turning all the way around, but she was acutely aware of his seductive cologne and imposing stature, and had caught a glimpse of his expensively tailored dark gray suit and classic Bostonian cap-toe shoes.

Marah found the small accommodations disconcerting. The man behind her was standing so near that she could feel the heat from his body mixing with her own. She was also aware that it had been some time since any man had been that close to her. His body heat teasing hers suddenly felt like lighter fluid being tossed on a raging flame. Marah felt a mist of perspiration rise between her cleavage.

The tall stranger stood with his back pressed against the elevator wall, his arms crossed evenly over his chest. He was unconsciously tapping the toe of his leather shoes, everything about his body language announcing his eagerness to reach his destination. The elevator jerked harshly, causing the woman in front of him to fall awkwardly against his body. A soft voice muttered a quick apology as she fought to regain her footing.

“No problem,” he responded, his gaze moving to focus on her female frame.

The woman’s attire was conservative but casual. Too casual for her to be an employee of Stallion Enterprises. Form-fitting Levi’s jeans hugged narrow hips and a small waist. She was leggy, the appendages seemingly a mile high for such a petite woman. A bright white blouse dressed her torso and from where he stood he imagined it was buttoned well up to her chin. He was suddenly aware of the faint scent of lavender wafting up from her space into his, the delicate aroma inciting a current of electrical energy through his bloodstream.

She tilted her head ever so slightly, just a hint of movement as though she were listening for something in particular to sound above the static breathing and the occasional cough of the other occupants. The elongation of her neck as it dipped, as if in invitation, suddenly made him want to lower his mouth to her flesh. He was suddenly lost in the thought of himself laying a path of damp kisses against the soft skin that peeked below the loose bun atop her head, a wealth of cinnamon-colored curls shimmering beneath the fluorescent lights. The moment was disturbing and he found himself fighting to resist the urge that had instantly consumed him.